Shelter
by palmatendofmind
Summary: A civilian doctor from Caprica is caught up in the chaos of the Cylon attack and makes her way to the Galactica.


Hour twenty-three. Or was it twenty-four? Three burn victims.  
Pulled from the galley of the Piper Alpha after the latest Cylon  
barrage set of a methane explosion. Flesh charred and falling off of  
bone. Two of them were dead on the table. Male? Female? In the  
time Daphne had to look at them, it was hard to say. The third one, a  
man, they tried to help. Kept the airway clear for a minute or more,  
but he had inhaled super-heated air-his lungs were scorched from the  
inside. She will remember the gold chain around his neck, still hot  
to the touch.

* * *

Hour six. A corporal with schrapnel wounds to his face. One eye  
punctured. Ten teeth missing. No sign of his right ear. They tried  
to keep him sedated but he kept trying to speak. Without his teeth,  
and with his toungue mangled, the only sound that would come was a  
damp hissing. Like some exotic insect. She will sometimes hear the  
hissing late at night, in Dee's rack, somewhere underneath the soft  
regular sound of her breathing.

* * *

Hour thirty-nine. Right after two more ephedrine pills came the pilot  
with no fingers. Finally one they could help. An explosion had  
seared off most of the flesh below her elbow, but they managed to get  
two pints of blood into her, and stabilize her vitals. As the pills  
kicked in, Daphne felt her hands start to shake, just as she guided the  
surgical saw through the bone above the joint.

* * *

Hour zero. Daphne walked into the swirling malestrom of the Galactica  
trauma ward and grabbed the arm of the first healthy looking person  
who walked near her. It belonged to a young woman wearing green  
scrubs with her hair piled underneath a white plastic cap and a  
surgical mask hanging slack around her neck. She quickly twisted out  
of Dana's grip.

"Let go! If you're non-emergency you're not supposed to be here, now  
get out of the way!"

Daphne scrambled to stay in front of the woman.

"I'm here to help. I'm a medical doctor. I have triage experience.  
Just tell me who to talk to."

The woman stopped moving long enough for her eyes to focus on Daphne's  
face, searching for something. After a second she spun around,  
scanned the room, and stuck her arm out pointing down the long line of  
beds against the far wall.

"Ok, fine. Talk to Doc Cottle. He's the one with the cigarette."

* * *

Hour nineteen. Cottle had given her a civillian GP to see if she  
could make him useful. The military medical staff apparently didn't  
have the patience to deal with him. His name was Fran, or Frank. It  
felt like he was always in front of her, keeping her from getting  
where she wanted to go by the shortest route. She started to wonder  
whether he was doing it on purpose. When his hands were shaking too  
much to perform the tracheotomy cut, she had to take the scapel from  
him. After she made the cut, she pulled him aside.

"Listen, Fran... Frank. Sorry. Frank, listen you're tired. You're  
not helping here in this condition. You need to rest."

"I know. It's bad. But I can't rest. I can't... I have to *do*  
something."

"There's got to be a dispensary, or an non-emergency clinic. Just go  
out and ask one of the guards. They'll tell you where to go."

"You sure? You guys don't need me here?" It was nearly impossible  
for him to hide the dawning sense of relief he was feeling.

"I'm sure. Go. They'll need you help there too."

In a second, he was gone, and Daphne was looking for another scalpel.  
She never saw Frank again.

* * *

Hour thirteen. For eight minutes Daphne tried to stop the bleeding on  
the lift driver with the thirty schrapenal wounds in his abdomen. She  
needed another bag of blood, and kept calling for it.

"I need more A negative over here! Stat!"

Finally, one of the nurses came over with a blood bag, but she looked  
at the patient and stopped short. She held the bag just out of reach  
of Daphne's outstretched hand.

"Come on, give it to me!"

"What the hell are you doing? Didn't you see the mark?"

She was pointing to a green ink stain on the patient's forehead.

"I told you an hour ago, green means 'gone'. How many times do I have  
to tell you?"

She had been working for eight minutes on a patient who had already  
been marked for dead.

"Frak! I keep thinking green means 'ok'. Why don't you people use a  
red mark? Red means stop!"

The nurse's eyes widened, and her lips curled into a shape which was  
almost a grin.

"Are you serious? Look around. Every frakking thing in here is  
already red."

* * *

Hour forty-six. Now. For Daphne, now is all that exists. There's no  
then. No later. Just the patient, the blood, the bags, and the  
scalpel. The acrid smell of chemical residue and disinfectant. The  
sounds of heart monitors, breathing machines, and screams. Into this  
now-familiar rhythm of senses suddenly comes the slightly sweet and  
completely unexpected smell of burning tobacco.

Cottle caught her by the elbow as she was passing. His other hand  
held a mug of steaming dark liquid. He was offering it to her. He  
spoke through teeth clenching a cigarette.

"Gods you're here early. You're gonna need this today. Not much left  
in the fleet, but I make sure our team has priority access to any and  
all stimulants." He took the cigarette out of his mouth, gave it a  
sidelong glance, then looked back at Daphne and winked.

Daphne grabbed the mug and immediately took a large swallow. The liquid  
burned her lips and her tongue, but she didn't care. She needed to  
wake up, and the pain helped. She blinked and tried to focus on  
Cottle, and hear what he was saying. It wasn't making sense.

"Is it early?"

"Hah." He paused. He looked at Daphne and realized that she wasn't  
joking. "How long have you been here today?"

"Today?" How the hell to answer that question? "What's today?"

Cottle's eyes narrowed, he suddenly reached out and roughly took a  
hold of Daphne's chin, tilting her head to the light. He looked  
closely, and exhaled smoke into her face.

"Holy shit. You never left did you? You've been here since Monday.  
Nobody told you to leave?"

Daphne didn't have an answer, and Cottle didn't wait for one. Things  
started happening fast, the rhythm and focus of the moment had been  
interrupted, and Daphne's brain seemed to be trying to shut down her  
body's systems as quickly as possible. Sight and sound started to  
blur. She fought to stay alert, but without the pressing crisis of  
another patient, there was nothing to latch on to.

She was aware that she was being pulled. The trauma ward spun away,  
the ICU loomed, then she found herself leaning against a high table.  
She found she had to grip the table edge hard to prevent her body from  
sliding backwards, along its length. Cottle had a hold of one sleeve  
of her scrubs and was doing his part to keep her from melting onto the  
floor. He was speaking sharply to a hunted looking woman in a  
enlisted uniform, balancing two binders on her hip, and making entries  
into a terminal on the table top.

"I told you to limit shifts to no more than eighteen hours. This  
one's been here for three days."

"She's not one of ours! How am I supposed to know who's in here if you  
don't tell me?"

"Well, if you expect me to keep track of who's in here, we're all  
frakked."

* * *

Four days earlier, the first explosion rattled the windows of Daphne's  
condo just as she was sitting down to breakfast. An earthquake, she  
thought. One more entry in God's list of natural disasters to plague  
humanity. She knew the drill. Another two or three days of eighteen  
hour shifts in the ER if it was bad enough. Or just a stress-filled  
fire drill for one morning if it turned out to be a false alarm.  
Either way, it was a welcome distraction. She would go to the  
hospital even though she wasn't on call, because people there would be  
glad to see her, because of what she could do for them. She found  
herself looking forward to the coming chaos of the next few days,  
since she wouldn't have time to think about her empty apartment, or  
the reasons why it was empty. Hell, if things got stressful enough,  
she might even end up feeling something.

By the time she was in her car headed to the hospital, not five  
minutes later, she knew something was wrong. No one on the radio knew  
what was happening. The rumbles and vibrations were still going on,  
lasting a bit longer and coming more frequently. Signs of panic were  
beginning to show in the streets, as more people poured out of  
buildings onto sidewalks, and cars started passing her dangerously.  
Daphne started to feel her growing uncertainty merge into fear as she  
slowed for a red signal, but the SUV behind her gunned its engine and  
whipped around her and through the intersection. A car in the cross  
traffic locked its breaks, its tires making a piercing squeal, but it  
still made glancing contact with the back fender of the speeding SUV,  
sending shattered plastic and glass tinkling across the intersection.  
The SUV never slowed down.

It was while she was combing the hospital lot for a parking space that  
Daphne first heard someone on the radio say the word "Cylon". It  
sounded to her like a strange archaic turn of phrase. Like something  
her grandparents would talk about. But she knew it meant something  
more than that. After hearing the word, she stopped looking for a  
space, and simply stopped the car where it was in the middle of an  
aisle. She got out, and left the keys in the ignition, and walked  
into the hospital.

* * *

On Galactica, without the rhythm, things were breaking down. The  
center wasn't holding. Daphne was walking, but she wasn't sure where or  
why. She knew she needed food. She knew she needed sleep. She  
didn't know how to get either. The corridors were bare metal and  
sharp edges, with people constantly running in all directions. There  
was nowhere to sit down and rest, which was probably for the best,  
because if she did sit down she wasn't sure she would be able to get  
back up. It was already hard to keep a straight line. People kept  
running into her, or it might have been the other way round. Each  
time she rebounded from the impact, she was shocked slightly back to  
alertness. Enough to register the expression on the face of human  
obstacle, always a strange mix of terror and revulsion. There was  
something wrong with her, but she didn't have the energy to wonder  
what exactly it was. Thirst finally stopped her in her tracks. A  
hatch to her right opened and closed as she walked by, and the air  
that washed over her tasted of clear cold water.

First she needed water, she thought. She hadn't been drinking enough.  
After that food or sleep or whatever, but the first priority was  
water. She had to brace herself on the bulkhead in order to work the  
crank. Her arms seemed to be barely under her control. When the  
hatch finally gave way, she barely managed not to fall in a heap over  
the raised threshold. She stood there for a moment trying to gather  
the strength to step over. She wasn't sure how long she hung there,  
half in and half out, but it must have been a while, because when she  
finally started to become aware of here surroundings, it was because  
someone was shouting at her.

"Hey! Red! I said: in or out! You're letting out the heat!"

It was a woman shouting. She was young, dark-skinned, and casually  
naked, making no attempt to cover herself despite the presence of  
other people in the room. She was facing away from Daphne, but looking  
at her in the mirror above the row of sinks where she and several  
other women and men were standing. Exposed flesh was everywhere in  
front of Daphne, but unlike the trauma center, there was no blood or  
gore. Just toned muscle and curves. So different from the cold,  
mangled limbs she had been seeing for the last few days. Daphne met the  
woman's eyes in the mirror and saw the now familiar look of shock and  
fear enter her expression. What is wrong with me? She thought. Daphne  
broke off the eye-contact, her gaze resting on for a moment on the  
woman's naked back. She felt a quick surge of embarassment, and  
turned back to try to close the hatch. In the casual non-medical  
setting she was having trouble maintaining her sense of clinical  
detachment. As she struggled with the heavy hatch Daphne felt more eyes  
turning toward her. The feeling of being singled out was growing.  
She was an alien here.

"I'm sorry..." Daphne tried to say, but her voice was weak. She managed  
to get the hatch shut and she turned and saw an empty sink a few paces  
down the line away from her, past the woman who had spoken to her, and  
who was still staring at her, even more intensely now. In fact,  
everyone in the room was staring, and the place had grown very quiet.  
Daphne kept her eyes down and tried to concentrate on her balance as she  
walked toward the sink, thinking how she just needed to drink some  
water. Drink some water and then worry about the strange reception  
she was getting from the people here. Drink the water first. Don't  
stumble. Act normal.

"I just need to get some water, I'm a little dehydrated..."

She had reached the empty sink at last. She could smell the water in  
the air. Her throat was aching for it. As she reached out to the tap  
to turn it on, she allowed herself to look straight into the mirror,  
figuring that she wouldn't have to meet anyone's eyes but her own.

The image that confronted her stopped her hand halfway to the tap.  
Her body was frozen as her mind tried to process what she saw. Ah,  
she thought. That's why they are staring.

Blood. Every part of her clothes from the chest down was covered in  
gore. Dried, crusted remnants of human flesh. She suddenly realized  
that she looked just like all the victims that had been lying in front  
of her in the triage unit over these last unknown number of days.  
Their bodies wrecked, giving up their precious liquids, staining  
everything they came into contact with. The sheets, the floor, the  
beds... her. She couldn't leave them behind even to find food or  
sleep. The only difference between them and her was that she was  
still breathing. For now. As these thoughts moved through her mind,  
Daphne found her last grip on the conscious world slipping. The sink was  
traveling away from her. The mirror was traveling away. Light was  
traveling away. She was vaguely aware of not hitting the floor,  
instead landing in someone's arms. Arms that were strong, full of  
blood and muscle. That was Daphne's last thought before the darkness  
was complete: these arms are alive.

* * *

The morning, four days ago, the hospital felt different. There was a  
strange new scent. Part sweat, part blood, and something else maybe.  
Normally, scents were aggressively attacked, brought to heel under the  
assault of chemical disinfectants. But this morning, no one was  
cleaning anything. After a few minutes, Daphne decided it wasn't really  
a scent that she was picking up, but an emotion. Fear. Of course,  
fear was usually present in the building, but on a normal day there  
was a comforting blanket of schedules, routines and competency thrown  
over it. The fear of life and death was smothered under a layer of  
people who felt only boredom, fatigue, and annoyance. But this  
morning, the blanket had been shredded. The people who were supposed  
to be bored and aloof were afraid. Sweating, agitated, upset, and  
afraid. Daphne realized that she wasn't the only one who could smell  
it. She realized that the scent was coming from her too.

The ER staff was not at all surprised to see her on her day off.  
Victims were coming in from all over the city-from places that  
they never came from before. Within an hour, it was clear that it  
wasn't an isolated attack. The newsnet was spotty, as if constantly  
rerouting around missing servers and links. But the information that  
was coming through was clear: what was happening was happening all  
over Caprica. The hospital was short-staffed. Some of the doctors  
scheduled to work the day weren't there. By ten o'clock, no one  
assumed that they were ever going to show up. Very quickly they were  
running out of meds. With all the burn victims they soon started  
running short on bandages. When they ran out of beds they started  
laying people out on blankets spread on the floors in the ICU. Then  
they ran out of blankets.

There was nothing to do but keep working. There was no time to  
reflect that she was fighting a losing battle. No time to reflect  
that stabilizing a patient only meant that they could live for another  
24 hours until the generators powering the hospital ran out of fuel.  
No time to think about the coming radiation fallout and its effects.  
There was no where to go anyway. Daphne hadn't heard about any  
evacuation plans. Where could they evacuate to? What was left on the  
planet or any of the Colonies? No, it was all right. Daphne figured  
this was where she was supposed to be at the end. Working. This was  
where she belonged, among the victims.

Which was why she was so surprised by the person calling her by name  
and grabbing her arm. This person wasn't a victim, and wasn't a  
doctor. It was a dark haired woman a few inches taller than Daphne with  
sharp, angular features. She looked completely out of place in the  
chaos of the hospital, dressed in a dark jacket and tailored black slacks.  
She had no idea how this person knew her name.

"You're Daphne? Listen, you don't know me... I'm Catherine. I work with  
Paul. He asked me to find you."

Hearing his name opened something in Daphne that she had being trying to  
keep closed all day. The questions arrived in her mind, urgent and  
breathless. Was he alive? Was he on Caprica? Would she see him  
again before the end? She felt as if she were suddenly at the edge of  
panic. So many months, she thought, but she still couldn't let go.  
She started to wonder if she truly cared about the answers to the  
questions, or whether instead, now, at the end, all she wanted was to  
believe that there was someone out there whose fate she cared about.

"You spoke to Paul?" she asked, "Today?"

"Yes, he contacted me on the Bureau's sub-space network before it went  
down. He's on Gemenon, they're under attack too. He asked me to find  
you before I leave."

"Leave? How can you leave?"

"There's a Bureau ship leaving soon, I have two seats waiting. We  
don't have much time."

"You came all the way here to find me? With a ship waiting to leave?  
Just because Paul asked you to?" Daphne was incredulous. The woman  
started to speak but stopped. Daphne found herself answering her own  
question. All day she she had been living with fear, but now she  
suddenly recognized a new emotion building within her. Anger.

"I see. Well that must have been difficult, to find out you hadn't  
fully replaced me after all. Well, don't worry. When you see him you  
can tell him that it was too little, too late. In fact, when you see  
him..."

Daphne was cut off as Catherine suddenly slapped her across the  
face. With Daphne momentarily stunned, she grabbed and held her wrist  
tightly, pulled her closer and started speaking quickly in a low tone,  
a few inches from Daphne's ear.

"Listen to me! There's no time for this shit! You may not realize  
it, but this planet is being overrun. The military is already  
retreating to orbit, and soon they are going to break orbit. Any  
sub-light vessel heading off-planet has zero chance of escape. Most  
of the jump-capable ships are already gone. The remaining  
jump-capable ships are designated for evacuation of government  
officials and their families. There's no room for anyone else! These  
are frakking Cylons attacking-everybody left on the planet is going  
to be dead within ten hours! Now I have two seats waiting for me on a  
Bureau clipper which is going to leave in exactly forty-three minutes  
from Cap-A. I'm going to be on it. I came here to give *you* a  
chance to be on it, because I owe this to Paul. I personally don't  
care if you come or not, but you have to decide one way or the other.  
Right now."

Daphne looked at the malestrom swirling around her. She looked at the  
other doctors and nurses who were still working to save the mangled and  
burned people coming in the front door of the ER.

"These people..."

"Can't come. There isn't room."

It wasn't right. Daphne knew she wasn't going to go. She was going to  
stay in the hospital, working with these people until the end came. She  
didn't need Paul, or this woman Catherine to save her life. How arrogant  
they were, to think that she would run from this place. She decided to  
tell Catherine to go frak herself.

But when she opened her mouth to speak, she heard herself say, "Let's  
go."

* * *

Daphne swam. There were lights above her, somewhere. She struggled  
towards them. She was naked, cold, wet. Dark liquid was all around  
her. If she could reach the surface, she thought, she could figure  
out where she was. She kept struggling, but her arms and legs were  
weighted down. With an effort of concentrated will, she managed to  
kick one leg-and she awoke. She realized that she really was  
naked, cold, and wet. Someone was shaking her.

"Ok, Daphne, can you hear me?" the dark skinned woman asked. "First  
drink this."

She was holding a cup to Daphne's lips. Daphne fumbled for it, the woman  
kept holding it, and together they tipped it back to allow Daphne to  
drink. It was cold water, and Daphne found herself draining the entire  
cup, then gasping for air.

She was sitting on the tile floor of the bathroom, leaning against the  
wall. The tile felt freezing against her skin but she was too tired  
to move. The dark-skinned woman was crouching next to her, supporting  
her with an arm. Daphne was conscious of the woman's nakedness, and her  
own. The woman's arm felt so warm against her back. She found she  
was shivering.

"Its so cold." she managed.

"Yeah, you're clothes were ruined. We threw them in the incinerator.  
Cmon, can you get up? Lets get you to a shower."

"How did you know my name?"

The woman grinned, "You had a note pinned to your clothes. Doc Cottle  
wrote it. Said you were a triage doctor and whoever found you should  
give you food, water, and a rack. Guess he didn't trust you to find  
the way yourself."

"I can see why. I can barely keep my eyes open."

"So I noticed. I'm Dee."

Daphne was walking now with the woman's help. She couldn't help  
noticing the woman's breast against her rib cage where she leaned  
against her, but she was too tired to move away and walk on her own,  
so she simply felt embarassed. She tried to concentrate on where she  
was walking. They reached a tile wall that separated the sink area  
from the shower stalls. Dee left Daphne leaning against the cold tile  
while she quickly stepped into the nearest stall and turned on the  
taps. Then she came back to where she had left Daphne, dipped her  
shoulder and wrapped Daphne's arm around her neck, and pulled her away  
from the wall to a standing position. Dee's arm supported Daphne around  
her rib cage as she manouvered her over to the rushing spray of the  
shower. Exhaustion was making it hard for Daphne to remained focused on  
her surroundings. The water was blessedly, deliciously warm. Her  
mind kept searching, lighting on trivial details, and moving on. The  
pattern of octagonal tiles on the floor. The flickering of the  
flourescent light above the stall. The feeling of her breasts pressed  
against Dee's arms. She kept coming back to the shocking detail of  
being physically entwined with a naked woman. It was silly. Why  
should she care? She was half-dead with exhaustion-it was a  
necessity. But she couldn't help thinking how long it had been since  
another person had touched her naked skin.

"Ok, do you think you can stand?" Dee asked. "Alright, I guess not.  
Here, just hold onto the towel hook. This soap is supposed to be  
disinfecting."

Dee started to wash the dried blood and sweat from Daphne's body. It  
took all the strength Daphne could muster to simply stand under the  
rushing waters, holding onto the hook set in the wall while Dee's  
hands moved over her skin. Dee was quick and efficient, but she  
wasn't shy. She scrubbed Daphne behind the ears, under her arms and  
between her legs. If she was embarassed by the task, she made no  
comment. For her part Daphne was no longer conscious on the strangeness  
of being touched, in fact she couldn't concentrate on any thought or  
emotion. At this point of exhaustion the only part of her mind that  
was still aware of it surroundings was some primal nub, which simply  
relished the feeling of warmth from the rushing water and the touch of  
skin on her skin. When she was done, pulled Daphne away from where she  
was leaning against the wall and helped her lower herself to the floor  
of the shower. She propped Daphne in a sitting position against the  
wall, and pointed the shower spray on her.

"Ok, just sit here a minute. I'm gonna find you something to wear."

* * *

The whole way up on the transport from Caprica, Daphne remained silent,  
staring out the window at the unfolding holocaust. The awesome sight  
of the planet curving away beneath her as the ship gained altitude  
was spiked with unfamiliar lights and flashes, some far away, some  
uncomfortably close. It was only after the brief, sickening  
dislocation of the first jump, when the last view of the dying planet  
disappeared that she turned toward Catherine sitting beside her and  
finally spoke.

"Where, exactly, is this ship heading?"

Catherine looked at Daphne with some irritation and said, "I have  
no idea."

"No idea? Didn't the Bureau give you a destination?" Daphne was trying  
to keep her voice low and level. Every single seat on the ship was  
taken, yet the cabin was eerily silent. No one was speaking above a  
whisper. Daphne half expected someone to start screaming-and if  
someone did, she somehow felt that everyone else would join them.

"The plan was to rendevous with a military escort and head to one of  
the emergency rally points beyond the Olympus perimeter," Catherine  
replied quietly. "But since I don't see any other ships outside that  
window, I'm guessing that plan is being modified."

Catherine turned away from her and began studying her hands clasped in  
her lap. Daphne stared at her and waited. When she realized no more  
information was forthcoming, she was surprised to feel a rising sense  
of annoyance rather than panic.

"You haven't said two sentences to me since we left the hospital."

"I told you, I don't *know* where we are going."

"I don't give a frak where we are going!" Daphne hissed.

Catherine looked up from her lap and met Daphne's eyes.

"Ok," she said. "What *do* you give a frak about?"

"Let's start with Paul. Where is he?"

Catherine looked away. "I don't know where he is."

"But you must have spoken with him? He told you to come get me,  
didn't he?"

"He sent me a few messages early this morning through jump-relay  
text. Apparently, Gemenon got... it happened a few hours earlier  
there. He was warning me... and he asked me to find you."

"But *why*?" Daphne asked, her voice rising in volume and tempo despite  
her efforts to keep it level. "If he cared so Gods-damned much about  
my well-being..."

Catherine turned back to Daphne and cut her off, "Enough! Daphne I'm  
sorry. I just don't have the answers you want. I'm just as much in  
the dark as you."

Now it was Daphne who looked away, staring into the endless field  
of stars outside the window, wondering whether Paul was alive,  
and whether she would ever speak to him again. There's still a  
chance, she thought to herself, to get her questions answered. But  
then again, maybe she'll never know. Which would be worse?

* * *

Daphne lay awake, staring through the dim light at the ceiling of the  
narrow rack, only three feet above her. It was covered with pictures,  
postcards, and drawings from another woman's life. People she had  
never seen before smiled and beamed joyfully at Daphne through the  
gloom. She amused herself by giving them names inside her head,  
inventing their stories and their relationships. That one, the wiry  
kid with the wild hair was a boyfriend. The heavy set one at the  
bar-b-que with the tongs was a big brother. The mother was  
unmistakable. The Dad, well, he was only in the older pictures. But  
he wasn't dead, Daphne thought. No, the parents had split up after the  
kids were out of the house. He was living on his own, maybe with a  
new girlfriend? It was sad how people couldn't hold it together after  
accomplishing the thing that they had worked so hard for for so many  
years. But still, not as sad as if he had passed away. Daphne liked  
thinking he was retired to Scorpius. She didn't bother thinking about  
the fact that on Scorpius there was no one left alive.

The woman whose life to which the pictures belonged was sleeping  
soundly beside her. Dee had slipped into the rack quietly six hours  
ago at the end of her shift. Daphne had pretended to be sleeping and  
Dee hadn't said anything at all-just pushed Daphne gently but firmly  
toward the inner wall to make some room, then turned on her side and  
was out within two minutes. Complete exhaustion. Daphne was familiar  
with the feeling. But it was different now. She had been lying in  
this rack for the last twenty-four hours. Soon, she knew, she would  
have to leave the warm darkness of the cocoon she had found and face  
the cold darkness outside.

Dee had decided to put Daphne in her own rack when it turned out that  
the only open rack in the pod was missing its sleep curtain.

"Its ok Red, I'm going on duty in fifteen minutes anyway. We're pulling  
huge shifts... so you'll have plenty of time with the rack to yourself."

Dee brought Daphne food twice during the day, taking ten minutes out of  
her mess time on each occasion. Daphne didn't have to pretend to be  
asleep during those visits, she was out cold. But when she did wake  
she was glad to find the plates waiting for her. So other than two  
quick trips to the bathroom, Daphne hadn't moved from her spot for the  
last day. It was like a long, endless dream, she thought, one where  
you knew that eventually your alarm would wake you, and call you out  
to face a day you were dreading. She knew the alarm was coming soon,  
but she didn't think about what would happen when it came. Her mind  
stayed with the people on the ceiling, and their unchanging joyful  
faces.

* * *

The first few moments after disembarking onto the Galactica flight  
deck were a confusing blur of activity and questions. Pointed,  
personal questions delivered with military precision and  
characteristic directness from the female sergeant that was handling  
the stream of women refugees.

"Name."

"Daphne Mullaney."

"Occupation."

"Medical doctor."

Each inquiry was delivered as a statement, with no rising intonation.  
Nothing at all that even hinted that to not answer was a possible  
course of action.

"Number of family members in your party."

"Ah, family? Just me. One."

"No children, then."

"Right, just me."

"Time since your last menstrual cycle."

"Excuse me?"

"Is there any possibility that you may be pregnant?"

"Uh, I see. No. It isn't possible."

"Are you sure?"

Daphne started to find herself annoyed.

"I'm a doctor. I understand the process. Yes, I'm sure."

The sergeant looked up from her clipboard and briefly me Daphne's gaze.

"These are routine questions, ma'am. They happen to be necessary."

Daphne took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Yes, I understand Sergeant. Its fine."

"Have you ever been a member or associated with a member of the  
Society for Machine Personality?"

"I've never even heard of that."

The sergeant again looked up at Daphne and met her eyes. This time she  
held her gaze for a few seconds, before looking back at her clipboard  
and starting to write again.

"You're a medical Doctor?"

"That's right."

"Are you experienced in emergency medicine or triage?"

"Actually, yes. I've worked in the ER for the last five years."

More writing on the pad in front of her followed. Then she ripped off  
the bottom part of the sheet of paper that she was writing on and  
handed it to Daphne.

"Show this to the soldier manning the checkpoint. We could use your  
help in the trauma ward."

"Of course."

Daphne took the paper and started to move in the direction that the  
sergeant had indicated. But before heading to the checkpoint she  
turned and scanned the queues. She was somewhat surprised to find  
herself looking for Catherine. Why am I bothering, she thought. Then  
she reminded herself that without Catherine's help, she would have  
died at the hospital, along with everyone else on Caprica. But there  
was something else too. Paul had made Catherine responsible for her.  
While this rankled Daphne, it perversely made her feel obligated to look  
out for Catherine's safety. This was a woman that Paul trusted and  
cared about, and as much as Daphne didn't like to admit it, that fact  
mattered to her.

Catherine was at the head of the line two tables to Daphne's left. She  
was finishing her conversation with the official there. She grabbed  
her paper, looked around through the milling throng of people and  
found Daphne looking at her. She came over to Daphne at a brisk clip.

"What did they tell you?"

"They need help in the trauma ward. I guess I'm going there now."

"That's good! It means you're being accepted as part of the crew.  
I'm being shunted off to the refugee camp. Its in one of the big  
cargo holds. Look, I don't know when I'll be able to see you..."

"I understand. Listen, I'll try to find you when I get some time to  
myself. Try to stay safe. And... thanks."

"It's ok."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Just stay alive."

And then Daphne was being shoved along toward the checkpoint by two  
burly deckhands who were trying to make space for more refugees to be  
processed. Catherine was being pulled in a different direction,  
toward a different checkpoint. Daphne turned to see where she was  
going, and when she was able to glance back, Catherine was gone. Lost  
to Daphne's sight behind the swimming crowd of refugees, who all seemed  
to wear the same expression on their faces. An expression that  
managed to combine relief, exhaustion, and fear.

* * *

Daphne entered the head attached to Barracks Twenty-seven with some  
trepidation, unsure what reaction she might encounter now that she was  
mostly conscious and alert. She hadn't seen Dee since the morning,  
over sixteen hours ago, and she wasn't sure whether she was welcome to  
another night of sharing a rack. But after a day in the triage ward,  
she was in desperate need of a shower, and she didn't know where else  
to get one. This time, she thankfully had clothes to change into,  
having procured some standard issue enlisted-person clothes from the  
purser. Two pairs of everything... they hadn't even asked her for  
identification, although the medical scrubs that she still wore acted  
as all the identification that she seemed to need on Galactica. When  
crew members saw a doctor or nurse coming, they made a hole.

Having clothes was a blessing, but Daphne was conscious now that both  
men and women were sharing the showers in the head, an aspect of  
military life that she found somewhat disconcerting. As a doctor she  
knew that people quickly became accustomed to nudity when it was a  
routine aspect of their daily life, but she still found herself  
embarassed to be naked in the presence of so many strangers. She was  
thankful that the naked man in the shower stall next to her didn't  
even glace at her as she took her place in front of the nozzle. From  
farther down the line however she heard an unfamiliar male voice.

"Hey its Sleeping Beauty! We were wondering if you were ever gonna  
leave Dee's rack!"

Daphne looked down the line of stalls to her right. There was a skinny  
naked man leaning against the stall divider a few stalls down. His  
shoulders and upper chest were covered with a large tattoo of some  
kind of snake or serpent.

The man in the stall next to her looked over for the first time, but  
he was looking past Daphne down the row of showers.

"Shut the frak up Pullman. She's a medic. She might be sewing your  
ugly face back together some day."

Daphne didn't know what to say, so she said nothing and busied herself  
with the soap, trying to finish as soon as possible.

"Is it getting better?" the man asked. Daphne quickly glanced around,  
saw no one and concluded he was speaking to her.

"Better?"

"Triage. Not as much blood on your scrubs today."

"Oh. Yes. The casualties have stopped coming yes. Today I was  
mostly giving meds. I didn't have any surgeries, so, you know, no  
blood."

"Well, that's a blessing. I saw you come in the other day. Looked  
like the Cylons had turned you inside out. Some of us thought you  
were gonna die, before we realized it wasn't your blood."

"Yeah, that was a bad few days."

"Well at least we aren't jumping now. I hear we've lost the Cylons.  
You said there weren't any new casualties today?"

"Uh, right. No pilots or marines anyway. There was a construction  
accident, some broken bones, but overall, it felt... kind of normal.  
Sounds crazy I know."

The man gave a short laugh.

"Ha. Yeah, the new normal."

It gradually dawned on Daphne that she was grinning. She was appalled.  
Was it really so easy to fall back into familiar patterns? It was as  
if her mind refused to believe that ten billion people had lost their  
lives in the last week. But what else could she do? If she truly  
accepted reality, how should she behave?

"I guess the new normal is having to sleep in half a rack." It was a  
different voice. Daphne turned and saw Dee looking at her, smiling. "I  
see you met Carson... what is it?"

She had tailed off noticing the look of confusion on Daphne's face.

"I'm sorry," Daphne said, "Its just that you're smiling."

Dee shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you haven't seen that in a while huh? I  
don't know, I guess I'm just glad you came back. It occurred to me  
after I left this morning, that you might just disappear somewhere,  
and I'd never know what happened. After finding you the way we did,  
I guess I just wanted to know that you were ok."

Now Daphne was smiling, for the first time in many days. "I'm ok. As  
ok as can be expected. Thank you Dee. And I'm sure I can find an  
empty rack to sleep in..."

"Forget it, Red!" Dee interrupted. "Its no bother... I was just joking.  
Its nice to have company once in a while. Don't get me wrong... I'll  
kick you out eventually. But there's no sense in frakking around the  
next few days looking for an empty rack. The officers have enough to  
worry about right now."

* * *

Daphne passed through the checkpoint at the refugee processing center  
with her papers and was disgorged into a sprawling maze of chaos. The  
narrow iron corridors of the aging warship were choked with people  
running in all directions. She tried to make her way according to the  
directions given to her by the staff sergeant, but soon realized she  
was hopelessly lost. Then it occurred to her that she could simply  
follow the wounded and maimed, since there was a seemingly  
never-ending stream of them. Eventually they would reach a triage  
station, and that was where Daphne could make herself useful.

But even with such a clear goal, Daphne found it hard going. She was  
tired and unsteady on her feet, and was constantly being jostled by  
groups of soldiers charging past her. People seemed to keep coming  
at her from the direction she wasn't looking.

Suddenly from behind her Daphne heard someone scream, "Make a hole!"

She was a second too slow in diving to the bulkhead on her right and  
was sent sprawling to the ground by a dull heavy impact directly  
behind her shoulder. Her collision with the floor jarred her wrists,  
and just as the pain was starting to register she heard the sharp  
slap of flesh hitting the ground just behind her, followed immediately  
by a gutteral exclamation.

"Frak! Oh frak me! Gods damnit, why can't you get out of the way?"

Daphne rolled quickly onto her side trying to distance herself from the  
figure writhing on the ground next to her. It was a long, thin blonde  
woman with a close-cropped military hair style wearing a blood  
splattered flight jacket, in obvious pain, clutching her left arm.

"Oh for fraks sake, you're killing me!"

Daphne instincts took over. She was on her knees quickly, with her  
hands on the woman's shoulders, trying to keep her still long enough  
to evaluate her injuries.

"Get the frak off of me Gods damn it!" the woman screamed, while her  
right arm flailed wildly. Her hand caught Daphne flush in the temple,  
but it was a glancing blow and only shocked her for a moment.

"Hold still! I'm a doctor! I'm trying to help you!"

"Some help! You think tackling me is helping?"

"Sorry, but you ran into me... remember?" From the way  
the woman was holding her left arm, Daphne was reasonably sure that the  
shoulder was separated. She needed to examine the area with her hands  
to be sure.

"Well, you were too fracking slow... FRACK! What the frack are you  
doing?"

"Try to relax. You've got a separated shoulder. Did this just happen  
now?"

"No, its been frakked-up since I landed."

"Not a smooth landing I take it? What else hurts?"

"Well I was landing two frakking vipers at once, ok? Everything  
hurts."

"Any sharp pain? Any nausea? Is this tender?" Daphne was worried  
about internal injuries, and was using one hand to probe the woman's  
abdomen.

"No, it isn't tender, but that frakking hurts anyway."

"Ok, but this is going to hurt more." And with that Daphne put both  
thumbs to the protruding mass of the end of the woman's humerus and  
pushed. After a second of pressure the end of the bone slipped back  
into the shoulder joint with an audible pop, accompanied by the loudest  
expression of pain from the woman yet.

"Holy mother of shit!" But that was quickly followed by several deep  
strong breaths of relief as the woman flexed the joint back and forth.

"Oh Gods. Ok, yes, I think you got it. Gods that hurt."

"Yeah, well, it will still hurt. But it should be better. You should  
get on a strong course of anti-inflamitories. And try to take it easy,  
or its likely to pop back out."

"Take it easy?", the woman asked as Daphne was helping her back to her  
feet. "That's not likely, Doc. For either of us. But thanks, I owe  
you one. What's your name?"

"Daphne. Don't mention it."

"Easy enough, I won't mention it. I'm Kara, by the way, but everyone  
calls me Starbuck. I'm guessing we might see more of each other."

And with that, she strode purposefully away along the corridor in the  
direction she had been headed when she had collided with Daphne moments  
earlier. Daphne started walking in the same direction, unconsciously  
smoothing the front of her shirt. It was then that she realized that  
the front of her shirt was smeared with blood. First blood, Daphne  
thought to herself. She knew there would be more.

* * *

Daphne was awake again in the sheltering darkness of the rack. The  
lights in the barracks were on their lowest setting, and the heavy  
curtain across the rack only allowed a faint glow to penetrate. In  
the relative quiet of fourth shift, every sound she could make out had  
a regular rhythm-the soft metallic rattle of the ventilation duct,  
the regular whispering exhalation of breath from her bunkmate, and  
deepest and slowest of all, the low, endless, incomparably heavy  
throbbing of Galactica's engines. At night, in the darkness of the  
rack, Daphne was grateful for that sound. She learned early on that if  
she weren't careful, and didn't keep a close rein on her thoughts, her  
mind would start to imagine the vast emptiness that surrounded her.  
The rack inside the barracks, inside the foc'sle, inside the ship,  
itself a microscopic hunk of metal and plastic hanging in the  
incomprehensible void. She felt like a fraction of a fraction of a  
ratio that was too small to even define. But somehow, the sound of  
the engines gave her mind something to settle on-a basis on which to  
build a perception of a world. If she didn't think too hard, the  
sound could keep the void outside at bay. The void inside was another  
matter.

The half-glow that seeped around the edge of the curtain allowed Daphne  
to just make out the images on the glossiest of the photo prints taped  
to the ceiling of the rack. Now her finger reached out to touch the  
face of a striking, dark-skinned woman of late middle-aged years. The  
photo showed her in profile, straight-backed, her head thrown back in  
abandoned laughter. Her cheekbones and forehead were high and proud,  
while her hair was gray, close-cropped and uncovered. Dee's mother.  
She was so proud when Dee joined the Colonial Fleet. Right now she's  
looking forward to Dee's next mail message, which comes every week like  
clockwork. She can't stop telling her friends all about Dee's latest  
commendation.

"You always come back to her..." Dee was awake, and was watching Daphne  
in the dim light.

"Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't know you were awake" Daphne felt ashamed to  
be caught so deeply involved in someone else's memories.

"No, it's ok. I just notice that you seem to like her picture. Its  
almost like you recognize her."

"No, it isn't that. Of course, I don't know her. It's just that I've  
been looking at her every night now for a week. I feel like somehow  
I'm learning her story."

Now Dee shifted onto her side, so she could look at Daphne directly.  
The two of them were both lying on top of the sheets, due to the  
warmth of the barracks. A thin sheen of perspiration made Dee's skin  
shine faintly in the gloom.

"Really? What story is that?"

Daphne was feeling increasingly self-conscious, but she somehow felt that  
she owed Dee an explanation. After all, these people were her family.

"I'm not sure. I guess that as I get to know you, I feel like I can  
work backwards and figure some things out about your family. You  
know, what your parents were like, how they treated you... that sort  
of thing. I mean, right now, they're the only photos I have to look  
at, so I want to know more about them."

Daphne glanced shyly in Dee's direction, not meeting her eyes, trying to  
quickly gaugue her reaction. To Daphne's relief, Dee was grinning at  
her.

"Ok, sure. So what have you learned about her so far?"

"Well, let's see... she' kind... generous. She tried to take care of  
others before seeing to herself. She takes in all the neighborhood  
strays..."

Dee chuckled softly.

"Well you must have got it from somewhere. Why not your Mom? You  
probably had stray dogs sleeping in your bed all the time as a girl."

"Oh no. No animals in the house I grew up in. And that isn't my  
Mother either."

"It isn't? Who is she?" Daphne felt as if something was shifting beneath her.

"My Aunt Ellie. My parents died when I was young. My brother and I  
grew up in her house. You want to know the funny thing about that  
picture? I almost never saw her laugh. I have no idea what was  
happening when that was taken, but she sure thought it was funny."

"She was strict?"

Dee snorted. "Yeah, you could say that. It wasn't possible to please  
her. She rode me and my brother every day. We didn't study enough,  
but then we studied too much. We were too quiet, we were too  
loud... it was always something. But you know, I get it."

"Get what?"

"She didn't want us. We ruined her life. She lost her sister and  
picked up two anchors in the same car accident. It wasn't too hard to  
figure out. She didn't exactly make a secret of how she felt."

"But you still keep her picture there?"

Dee looked at Daphne in the dim light, "Who else do I have? Now... who  
else will I ever have?"

It was a question with no answer. Daphne reached out and touched Dee's  
face. She stroked her cheek for a moment, feeling the damp residue of  
tears. Dee caught Daphne's hand by the wrist. She seemed about to  
speak, but instead she just pulled Daphne close to her across the narrow  
space between them. Suddenly pressed against her friend's body Daphne  
became acutely conscious of the thin fleet-issued tee shirts covering  
them, and the electric sensation where their bare skin came into  
contact. She reached around and encircled Dee with her right arm, her  
hand tracing a path down her back and resting on her bottom. She  
kissed Dee's face, slowly, savoring the salty flavor of tears and  
sweat, moving closer and closer to her mouth.

"Please...", Dee whispered, as she reached around Daphne and her  
fingers found the back of her neck. Then their lips found each other,  
and they didn't need any more words.

Two forms pressed tightly against one another in the middle of the  
tiny rack, in the center of the great ship, suspended in the vast  
incalculable void of space. For Daphne, amid the caresses and kisses  
and sighs, the void was filled, for a time.


End file.
